Blaise’s stance is defiant, standing on Killian’s left side, his chest puffed out and a knowing smirk playing on his lips. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s unaffected by Soren’s hostile behavior toward him. But his fists are clenched behind his back, his eyes darting too often to Sariah, who seems blissfully unaware of the tension between the two males. She hasn’t left her brother’s side since he arrived, filling him in on what transpired on this side of the realm.
Soren moves slightly, putting more distance between his sister and the second-in-command; the gesture a clear warning that Blaise doesn’t fail to catch. The sound of his grinding teeth doesn’t escape my heightened hearing, and I worry a fight is brewing between these testosterone-imbued walls. I nudge Killian with my foot and throw him a pointed look, silently urging him to intervene. He shrugs non-committally, a corner of his lips turning up slightly.
He’s enjoying this showdown, I realize with a start. To see his imperturbable rake of a friend properly perturbed.
“Soren of the Haelstrom bloodline,” Ereshkygall says from the window where she has been gazing into the snow-capped gardens. Thank fuck for this small mercy!
“Your Grace,” he says, bowing his head and going down on one knee in a show of reverent submission.
Ereshkygall moves like a chimera, her silver hair brushing the polished wood floors. She places a hand on the crown of his head, her warm-toned skin such a stark contrast against his platinum locks.
“Rise, child. I am not worthy of such reverence. Just ancient.”
Soren parts his lips, probably ready to declare his devotion, when the door opens, Nella ushering Mattya and Axel inside.
“If that is all, my King,” she says with a slight incline of her head, her hand still grasping the door handle.
“Stay, Nella,” both Sariah and I say at the same time.
“You’re a part of us, Nella,” I continue. “Lost as much at the hands of my sister as anyone else in this room. You deserve a place at the deciding table.”
Her gaze goes to Killian, searching for his permission.
“She’s my Queen, Nella, just as much as she is yours. Her words are final. They do not need my seal of approval.”
“I am not saying this as a Queen, though,” I interject. “Not even as the Foretold One. I am asking you to join us as your friend.”
Nella’s smile is small and composed, but her eyes shine with gratitude. She takes two strides inside the room, taking her place next to Sariah, who smiles broadly at her. From behind her slim frame, Soren peeks a glance at Nella, with the same assessing gaze he was measuring Blaise with, but he definitely doesn’t look like he finds her deficient in any way.
“Thank you, Aimee. My King.”
“Now what?” Axel asks from the doorway, where both he and his brother have remained standing.
“Now we plan a war,” Blaise answers with a laugh devoid of any humor.
“First, we should gather all our allies. Little umbra, can you contact your dragon? We need to speak to the human leaders.”
“Her dragon?” Nella asks in astonishment, looking at Sariah for an answer.
“It’s a whole thing, Nellie, babe. I’ll explain later,” Sariah nudges her playfully, garnering Soren’s attention on the petite human once again.
I close my eyes, letting the clamor of the room fade away as I enter my mind palace, in search of the thread that will take me to K’haram. He makes his presence known immediately, before I even call him out.
“Yes, Omri?”
“K’haram. We’d like to speak with Celine and Khalya if possible. Prepare for the arrival of the human army in Wrahta.”
“Preparations are underway already, Omri. Mael has left with the fleet already, crossing the Vrokdiff Sea as we speak. They should arrive in the North in a few days’ time, taking the longer route to avoid Fae detection.”
Finally, some fucking good news. With the onpyr attack on the castle and the ambush the Dark Umbras suffered in Annerough, our numbers have dwindled more than expected. It’s good to know help is on the way.
If I know one thing about Aurora, she is unpredictable as she is diabolical. She is planning something of monstrous proportions, and every moment we spend in this limbo of tense lull is a moment closer to whatever destruction she will unleash.
Her obsession with Killian—Arwan’s psychosis regarding Akaori—transcended death itself. It would be ludicrous to imagine she’d stall right now.
“And you? The leaders?”
“Come nightfall, we can depart. We shall be there by morning light.”
